Wanted
by Idan
Summary: How do you tell someone you need their corpse? My guess at the phone call we didn't get to see in Crimson Hat.


**Title: **Wanted

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing in here you'd want to take home.

**Author's Note:** Once I started wondering how this conversation had gone, I couldn't stop trying to work it out. But then, of course, I realized that all kinds of things can go unsaid between two people who really know each other. This is my first fanfic ever, so please review if you feel inspired to do so!

**Wanted**

Sleep was not on the agenda for tonight, she concluded, but she resisted the urge to get up and do something productive. Her body needed the rest even if her mind refused it.

When the phone rang, she grabbed the cell off her nightstand with the accuracy of frequent practice. She was saying hello for the second time before she realized it wasn't her phone that had rung. It was the other one.

Her heart sped up immediately. Maybe it was just a wrong number? Or something gone terribly wrong. Or….

"Hello?" Her attempt to sound calm mostly succeeded, she thought.

"Hey," said the voice on the other end, a low, warm drawl she was familiar with from late nights at the office, or drowsy discussions while she drove. Something like homesickness pulsed behind her ribcage.

"Hey," she managed in reply. They weren't using names; even a clean cell phone was ridiculously non-secure.

"Did I wake you?"

She grimaced. He only asked questions he already knew the answer to when he was stalling, or making small talk to better ambush her with his latest ridiculous plan. Or trying to see if she would lie to him. "No. Are you okay?"

That wasn't exactly a throwaway question, but she didn't expect an honest answer. Could she ever, really?

"Oh yes, just fine. Never better. You?"

"Oh, fine, fine." _Oh, dammit, just get to the point already,_ she thought, although she was enjoying the long-lost awareness that he was safe, at least for the moment. Worrying about him out there playing a long con against Red John without backup was no more restful than worrying about him sinking into insanity and despair, she had reflected more than once over the past few days. "So to what do I owe the rare honor of this call?"

The sarcasm provoked a short chuckle. "I've had a message from my new friend. He wants to meet."

"Great. Just tell me when and where," she replied.

"It's a little more complicated than that."

"Of course it is."

"He wants me to bring him a gift."

"And I assume he's not registered at Tiffany's."

"No. This is something a little more specialized. His favorite craft project, you could say."

"Dammit, I am not helping you steal a corpse," she retorted.

"No need for that. He prefers fresh to frozen."

"Oh." Well, that was worse. Then it hit her. "Oh. Crap."

"Eloquent and succinct."

"Anyone I know?"

"I'd say intimately."

Yeah, that was what she'd been afraid of. She was glad she didn't have to try to figure out whether her corpse was going to purposely end up a prop in this scheme; his shooting Tanner had shown her where that particular line was drawn. Maybe it was better this way, after all.

"And," he continued, breaking off her train of thought, "since we'll be using a slight variation on his specification, we'll need witnesses. To lend a little verisimilitude."

"I can supply those," she said. She'd known since he'd fessed up that she was going to be the one explaining things to the rest of the team, though she wasn't looking forward to it. "You'll need to bring the gun. And real ammo, for the forensics."

He was silent for a moment. "If you're sure."

"Well, how the hell else are we gonna pull this off?" she demanded.

"Now, now. No need to be cranky."

"I'll take care of the rest of that end of things. You take care of where we go afterward."

"Yeah, I have something in mind for that." He paused. "It's good to be plotting with you again."

"And here my ulcer just healed up," she sighed dramatically.

"Go take some antacids. And then get some sleep. You'll need it."

"Stop telling me what to do," she snapped.

He chuckled again. "If this works, I'll make it up to you. You can tell me what to do for some predetermined period of time. Hours, maybe."

"I tell you what to do all the time. You just don't do it," she pointed out.

"Sometimes I do," he protested.

"Only to confuse me."

"Well, there is that. How much time do you need?"

She thought about it. She'd rather not draw it out, after all. "How soon can you get here?"

"Tomorrow night, then."

"Tomorrow night."

"Get some sleep."

"Don't do anything stupid," she said, figuring she might as well put in her own instructions that were sure to be ignored.

"I'll try. And…thanks."

"Yeah, well, I still hate you."

"As you should," he said, a note of something strange—maybe regret?—in his voice. Then he added, "Enjoy your last day alive."

"I'll try."

There was a pause, neither of them eager to disconnect.

"Thank you," he said again.

"Stop that. You're freaking me out."

"Sorry."

"Now that, I could listen to all night."

"Gotta go. Be careful."

"You too."

She stared at the dark phone for a moment after removing it from her ear. Then she threw the covers back and got out of bed. It was going to be a long day. Maybe if she brought the team doughnuts, this would go down easier, she thought. And she had to figure out where to get some blood, preferably her own type.

Oh, this was going to be so annoying, she told herself, trying to ignore the giddy feeling jumping up and down at the back of her skull. Normalcy was something of a relief, no matter how screwed up "normal" could be.

Halfway to the coffee machine, a new thought struck her motionless for a moment. Apparently she wasn't the only one who had figured out Jane's secret. Red John knew what she'd figured out years ago.

She was what he had left to lose.

"Oh, crap," she sighed, and smacked the button on the coffee machine harder than strictly necessary.


End file.
